


Evening stranger

by GaylartMess



Category: Smile For Me (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Animal Death, Blood, Blood Drinking, F/M, Fever, Gen, M/M, Night Terrors, Reader is NOT flower kid, Reader-Insert, References to Illness, Sleep Paralysis, Tags May Change, blood sucking, tags will update as the fic goes on, there's nothing super explicit yet, vampire!Habit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:34:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24826882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GaylartMess/pseuds/GaylartMess
Summary: It's really just what you need on a night like this, for your car to give up on the drive up to your new house in the middle of the woods at night.With a dead phone, you can only hope the house you briefly saw a while back could help you out. You suppose it's one way to greet your new neighbour, if the mile distance between your homes can still make that applicable. Thank goodness it's nothing like those stories your Gramps use to tell you about all the blood-sucking monsters he used to fight, right?
Relationships: Dr. Boris Habit & Reader, Dr. Boris Habit/Reader
Comments: 39
Kudos: 117





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story is very self indulgent, and the rating/tags will change as I keep writing it tbh.  
> Basically, Your car breaks down and dr. vampire habit lets you in to make a phone call. I've got a good idea on where the story is going, but I just gotta write it asdfg. Any feedback would be super appreciated though!

There had always been a strong disconnect between your family, and even now as an adult, you just couldn’t figure out why.

The only one outside of your parents you’d really consider having any proper memory of outside of the old family book you found buried under all the junk locked away in the garage would be your gramps. You saw him maybe five times growing up, and they had all been when you were only just old enough to remember him.

Each and every time, creatures of the night and some talk of heritage would be brought up. Even as a child you can’t remember if the marks across his shoulders were sprinkles of light freckles or old bites, whether his tales of taking out an infestation of monsters was true or false. But you were a kid and it had intrigued you to think that a real life hunter existed in your family, and he’d sit you on his knee, ruffle your hair, saying the legacy was in your blood. A child just learning to count to twenty didn’t know what that meant, though. 

All you remembered is how your parents would hiss at him to stop filling your head with ideas and nonsense. Gramps would frown at them, tell them they were ignoring their destiny. Denying me mine. The very last one of those had gotten loud. So loud. Gramps left, and you never got to see him again. Not until his funeral. There were memories of marvelling at the calluses on his hands as he proudly boasted about the house he’d built all by himself down in some old sleepy town that your parents always muttered they could never remember the name of. Now, sitting at the table of your parents house during a cool evening and nursing a hot drink in your palms, you stare down at the small box. Specifically, the silver tipped dagger nestled snugly inside the velvet lining. You hadn’t read the note yet, almost anxious about what exactly Gramps had trusted you with. It was one thing that Gramps had left you his house in their will, and not another family member. Not that you weren't beyond grateful and, obviously, floored he would even do so, but you wondered if there really hadn’t been anyone else they could have trusted such a place to. He’d left a sizeable amount to your parents and you were thankful they didn’t seem bitter toward you for being given the house, but they had eyed the box wearily when it had also been handed to you. Gramps had asked in writing that you open it in your own time. Losing your job, tiny apartment and moving back into your parents home had… Felt like a good time for you. 

You’d been randomly thinking back to the snippets of stories you could remember them telling you. The way your parents had insisted none of it was real and how Gramps wasn’t to be trusted. It’s not that you didn’t want to trust Gramps, but…

You huff into your drink. Lowering it to the table to rest your arms, you reach and pluck the note nestled against the steak and bring it close to decipher the chicken scratch.

_My dearest, Your parents never wanted the life of a hunter, and they never gave you the chance to explore that part of yourself. But it’s in your blood, and it carries down to you from my parents, and their parents, and theirs before them. Take my home, and continue to do what our family was destined to do._

_-Gramps_

Well… You were sure Gramps couldn’t have been too with it when they wrote this. Your parents had explained that by hunters, Gramps had been raised on hunting trips with deer and rabbits and a menagerie of animals. Your mother grew to resent it, breaking away from the tradition that had been established for generations and wanting to keep you away from it where possible. 

That’s what you knew, anyway. But looking down at the silver gleaming under the flickering kitchen light, speckles of rough dust lay undisturbed across its surface, you had wondered. Within a few days, curiosity gnawing at you relentlessly, you’d packed your car of the very few items you owned with the intention of driving down to Gramp’s old house. Your house, you supposed.

It was a six hour drive just to get to the edge of a small town not far from. You could see it from the top of the hill you were starting to descend, remaining in view against the weary backdrop of a grey sky and an expanding forest not far behind the town itself. 

Giving the forest a quick glance over, you took notice of something towering just above the treeline, deep within the sea of green. You were certain that it couldn't be Gramp's place. Not When you had another couple of miles to go, and he’d used to boast about his home being small, and far off from any noisy town. Not that this looked like a noisy town in the slightest. 

It looked sleepy, separated from the rest of the world by the surrounding hills and forest partially hiding it away.

With how few cars you’ve seen while on this road, you were convinced not many even knew of its existence.

The sky was starting to get darker as you rolled up to a small gas station just on the edge of the town, the bright luminescent lights of the sign beginning to flicker to light.

As you filled up the tank of your car, you glanced about curiously. 

Just off across the road, way further out, darker clouds were beginning to roll in over the hills. They were almost black, casting a shadow over the ground as they crawled over. You huffed, having realised your coat was buried deep in the trunk of your car. 

Glancing toward the gas station’s convenience store, you wondered if there would be a cheap coat you could pick up. Just in case you needed it.

A snack or two wouldn’t be a bad idea either, a grumble from your stomach reminding you how long it had been since you’d eaten last. Filling the tank you make your way to the entrance. 

It was a very small place. You couldn’t imagine more than seven people fitting in here at a time without it getting claustrophobic. A small rack held cheap umbrellas and coats, tightly compact for travel. They were only cheap, but if it started raining while you were moving stuff from the car to the house, a coat could keep you dry. You hadn’t even thought about packing an umbrella, so you grabbed that too.

As you crossed over toward the counter, you hastily snatched up a small crisp packet. You paused just at the counter, stumbling as you realised there wasn’t really a counter you could put your items onto. Not with the piles of, what you guessed were stock stacked high on the register counter. It looked like a precarious balancing act, as though one small nudge could send the whole thing on top of you.

Stood still and staring up at the spire in front of you, you almost missed the sound of the doors sliding open on the other side of the shop. You turned, hardly catching a glimpse of the person entering until they’d rounded the stand in the middle of the space. He glanced up and caught your eye, jumping with surprise. His dark hair fell in waves down to his chin, and he regarded you with nervous eyes. “Oh, uhm…” He began, voice close to an anxious groan. He shifts the large box in his arms, looking between you and the obvious issue on the register counter. You took a moment to glance at the name tag on his shirt. Kamal Bora was written underneath the bold ‘Hi I’m’ in neat handwriting.

“Hey.”

It was your turn to jump, twisting back around to the box pile to look for the source of the deeper voice. “Uh, Hello?” You reply, voice croaking from a lack of use. You lean to see if you could see around the counter, to no avail. You don’t want to risk getting kicked out by rounding the counter.

The man behind you makes a worried noise as a box is pulled back behind the counter, leaving a space big enough to put your stuff down. 

You blink and wearily place your items down. You look up toward the boxes again and near enough yell at the sight of a half-lidded eye blinking at you through a gap in the stock. “Sorry,” The voice muttered, “We only just got our stock in.” “Uh...” You found yourself a bit tongue tied for a moment. “That’s okay.”

“Lemme go put this in the back, Wallus.” Kamal spoke up, offering you a small smile as he passed you and rounded the counter. “Sure thing.” Wallus replied, pulling your items behind, a small beep sounding before the items were placed back. You informed him you were also paying for a tank refill. “Don’t get a lotta people passing through, really.” Wallus mentioned. You weren't sure how much he really wanted a conversation, given the literal wall between you and him, but you were a little starved for some kind of human communication. “My Gramps used to live further out.” You mention. “I’m moving into his old house.” If this was the closest town, you didn’t see any harm in starting to introduce yourself. His blue hand paused midway through reaching to pick up the umbrella, and his eye stared toward you.

“Further out?” He asks, before clarifying, “You mean like, in the woods.” His eye glances off to the side as Kamal shuffles back around the counter, walking to shelf near you with a crate of snacks in his arms. At the mention of the woods, his shoulders seem to stiffen a little, though you're sure it’s because of what he’s carrying.

“No, a bit further than that.” 

The man behind the counter was quiet as he scanned in the umbrella, seeming to move slowly, contemplatively. 

“Are you… Going through the woods? To get there?” You frown up toward where the eye was, though this Wallus seemed to have moved back a bit, out of sight. Well, more than he was anyway. Confused, you glance toward his companion, finding he’d been looking over his shoulder to you. He quickly glances away when you make eye contact.

“Oh.” Wallus paused. “Uh... You shouldn’t travel through there.”

You’re quiet for a moment, before slowly asking, “Why not?” 

“Not at night, anyway.” He continued. “Bad things happen. One time my car broke down and I was out there for hours. Had to get my buddy to come pick me up after an hour. Phone was on the blitz the whole time.” Despite only seeing his eye, you could feel the discomfort from the man as he continued. “There’s a couple of rumors from years back that people going into the woods themselves and never coming back.”

You scoff a little, smiling. “Sounds like stories to keep teenagers and kids from getting lost and stuff.” 

“Yeah, but you’ve not been there. You’ve not seen or heard half the stuff that’s happened.” Wallus replied. 

You mull over how you want to reply to that when Kamal turns toward you, his lips curled in worry. “He’s right, y’know.” He chimes in, voice breaking a touch. He seems to take a moment to swallow before speaking again. “Everyone gets bad vibes from that area around night time. Ya might be better off finding an inn or somethin’ for the night.” 

You swipe your card against the reader as it’s pushed through the gap toward you. “I’ll consider that, thank you.” You smile politely, knowing deep down you weren't going to. The house would be free to sleep in. An inn or hotel or anything would be more costly than you really considered necessary. Especially given how close you were now, there wasn’t any more reason to delay everything. A part of you was just so eager to see this place. See what you could find of this ‘legacy’ Gramps had gone on about. You weren't about to indulge that much to these strangers, but you knew what you had to do. That was all that mattered.

Scooping you items into your bag, you offer them both another smile as you turn to leave. “Have a nice evening.” You offer, sweeping down toward the exit as the two mumbled replies.

As you slunk back into the front seat of your car, you sighed. You took a moment to stare toward the figures shuffling about in the shop, drumming a small rhythm on your thigh as their words began to float through your head. Shaking your head, as though to shift the thoughts out, you start your car and begin to pull out of the gas station and back onto the road. There wasn’t a sense of unease, but something about this whole place felt off. You could hardly fight off an excited smile as your fingers lightly drummed against the wheel.

The two men watched as you left, waiting patiently for you to be in your car and driving away before Wallus spoke up.

“You’re… Not worried they’re still gonna go that way, are you?” 

“Of course I am.” Kamal hissed, leaning in closer, sweat beginning to collect on his brow. “But there’s only so much I can do, ya know?” The eye considers his for a moment, before shifting to glance toward the convenience store door. There’s a long sigh from behind the boxes.

“I don’t know why you’re still trying to defend him. Especially after what he said.” Kamal winces, a slight blush rising on his cheeks. “He’s… Not as bad as you think.” He groaned, glaring toward the wall. “He ain’t great, that’s for sure, but…”

Wallus hummed in response. He pulls another box down behind the counter, the sound of sneakers squeaking against the floor being the only indication to Kamal he was heading to the back room. “Hope they stop for the night.” He mutters offhandedly, the sound of the back door creaking open.

Kamal considers the quickly darkening sky, a distant rumble in the distance filling him with what he could only describe as being an exhausting amount of worry.

“Yeah. I’m sure they will” Kamal nods. But the twisting unease in his gut told him otherwise. 


	2. Chapter 2

You weren't sure how long it had been since the lights of the small town had disappeared over behind the wall of forest, but with how the rain hammered down and seemed to further darken the night, you were almost convinced the town hadn’t even existed. 

As you drove on, flicking on your headlights to see more clearly into the darkening path, you caught the faint flicker of the lights catching on a slick black gate.  
You sneak a glance as you pass by, seeing the gate partially open to a tall, tall house some distance back, behind a very full garden.  
Whether it was well tended to or not was lost on you, as minute details left you the moment your gaze was focused back onto the road ahead.

You glance wearily at the gas meter on your car, trying to keep your eyes moving and fight off the sudden heaviness of your eyelids. Taking one hand from the wheel you quickly swipe a palm over one aching eye, debating if it would be worth either turning back and finding somewhere to settle for the night, or simply pull the car over and rest your eyes.  
For some reason a part of you didn’t really want to be here any longer than you had to be.

It didn’t help that you kept thinking back to the conversation back in the convenience store. Driving up to the entrance of the forest your heart had been thumping in your chest. You didn’t think it was possible for a road to feel so empty and untouched, mindful of the potholes and branches laying across the beaten road. It’s like no one had come out here to tend to this area for years.

Like the end of a bungee cord going taut, you were tugged from your thoughts as the car suddenly gave a horrible sputter. You gripped the steering wheel, dread creeping through you as you glanced about..  
Through the windscreen wipers, you could see the illuminated road ahead, and the trees just off to the side that had been gliding by began to slow to a crawl as the car made another horrible noise.

“Oh, you’ve GOT to be kidding me.” 

The car sputtered to a halt, the rain still pelting hard against the window sill of your car. Frustrated, you flopped back against the chair, glaring up to the ceiling. The pitter-patter of rain outside didn’t let up as you sat there, trying to calm yourself down.  
You raise your hands to your head, gripping at your hair before dragging your palms down,pulling your cheeks before letting your arms flop into your lap.  
You checked the gas meter again. The needle indicating the newly filled tank was now flickered against the ‘E’ letter.  
“What…?” You muttered to yourself, bewildered. There was no way you’d been driving long enough for the tank to be empty already, right? You tapped your fingernail against the glass of the fuel indicator, and pulled back with a defeated huff when nothing happened. 

At the very least, the car light was still on.  
You unbuckle your seatbelt and twist around to reach into the back seat of the car. Between the boxes piled onto the back seats was a heft travel backpack. With a bit of difficulty, you tug it closer to start rifling through it, looking for your phone.  
You bury your hand blindly in multiple pockets, fingers scrambling more and more as the minutes pass by before the rubbery texture of your phone case brushes your hand.  
With a relieved sigh you tug it out, pulling up the rolled up flimsy raincoat you’d bought at the small shop not long ago. You pause, before snatching that up too and bringing it with you into the lighter front of the car.  
You settle back into your seat, pulling your knees up to your chest as you press your thumb to the main button of your phone, puting the raincoat on the dashboard.  
The screen flicks on, darker than usual. Much darker than usual. Before you can even adjust the lightness, the screen goes black. You squeak, staring at the silhouette of yourself in the screen before the symbol of an empty battery flickers on the screen.

Oh… Oh, of course!

You let your head flop back and let out another agitated groan. It’s not like anyone was around to hear you, but at least it meant you could let out the frustration.  
So much for getting someone out here to help with your car.  
You glance out your window, peering toward the trees only just illuminated by your car’s headlights, the forest behind swallowed by the natural darkness.  
It hadn’t felt like the middle of the night driving in, but now it really did. An endless, inky night without a moon or stars.

Pulling open the glovebox, you fish out your emergency flashlight and flick the switch to see if the battery was working.  
You squint as you accidentally shine the bright light into your own sight, momentarily blinding you.  
With a groan, you press your hand over your eyes, trying to rub the white spots away.  
Beyond your closed lids, something gives an uncomfortable whirr and the world darkens.  
With a start, you open your eyes to the pitch darkness beyond the window, the only light now coming from the flashlight lying sideways in your lap and only lighting up the car from the inside.  
Huh… Nice. Nice, that’s cool.  
Your heart is thudding hard in your chest, the heartbeat loud in your ears as you blink at the world outside your car, pitch black and unknown. Was the rain louder, beating down harder? Or had the car completely dying make way for you to listen more carefully?  
Holding onto the handle of the flashlight you twist around to shine the light down the car. Past your boxes of belongings and the back window you can just about make out the road you’d been driving down, the shadows of trees and shrubs danced with the movement of your flashlight.  
You hoped that’s why the shadows were moving, anyway.  
With a hefty sigh you turn back around in your seat, balancing the flashlight onto the dashboard carefully before reaching for the wrapped up raincoat, tugging at the velcro tie around it.  
It takes a lot of awkward wiggling in your seat and nearly knocking off the flashlight in the process, but you glance out the window as you shift to zip the coat up to your chin.

There was a house back there, and you were sure not going to sit in your car. Not when you couldn’t see ahead of you or guarantee something wouldn’t come out of the shadows for you. You’d rather be able to run for it than be a sitting duck.

Besides, they had to have a phone in that place. You could be in and out in twenty minutes, if whoever was there would be kind enough to help.  
...If someone lived there, anyway.  
You tug the hood over your head, the plastic texture crinkling against your ears as you tug the drawstrings. You could already feel the way the rain was going to seep through this thing.  
Shoving your phone into your pocket with your car keys, you grab the handle of the flashlight and only just notice how your hand is trembling as you do so as the thought occurs to you that this is how people get roped into horror movie scenarios.  
Not all the tales with monsters and other non-existent things, but the real stuff: Getting lost and running out of food, sinkholes, dehydration, getting mauled by animals, etc.  
In some cases other people were just as dangerous as any Wolfman or Vampire.

You huff as you grab the flashlight, taking a final glance around the car in case there was anything else you could take… Maybe your phone charger?  
You’re about to reach into your bag when you realise with a pause, your charger is packed with other cables.  
In a taped up box.  
In the boot.  
You at least grab the crisp packet and stuff that into the free pocket because then you can at least have something go right. 

As you throw open the car door the downpour hits you almost instantly. There’s no wind, but that doesn’t stop the relentless downpour from reaching you as you clamber out of the car, already struggling with making sure your car is secure and locked before going on, hand slick with rain when you shove it and your keys into the fabric, grimacing as it clings to you.

You shine the flashlight ahead of you, doing your best to keep your head up and resist the temptation to curl in on yourself to shield from the weather. Outside the car is much louder than you were anticipating with the leaves above you being beaten by the showers and hitting the pavement. You try to keep your gaze fixed ahead. It had only been one road all the way down, so as long as you kept to the road’s edge you’d find it.  
Maybe you’d get really lucky and someone by driving down this way? But you doubted it.

The light of the flashlight catches on something that slows you for a moment. Up ahead, on the other side of the road, something about one of the pushes is wrong. You can’t quite put your finger on it, walking closer, but staying on your side of the road. 

Something relatively big is lying in the bush, a soft brown breaking up the green of the brush. You pause, trailing your light down a bit further, gasping as the light of your torch catches the glint of a dark eye.

The deer’s head is unmoving, twisted at an odd angle with something horribly crimson splattered and matted to its neck.  
You bite your lip, feeling a deep pang in your chest as you force yourself to move on, flashlight trailing on the poor creature before back ahead of you.

Looks like cars did occasionally come down this way.

Your trainers are already thoroughly soaked as when your light catches the wet metal of the fence. You smile, relieved, and break into a small jog.  
At this point, you were happy to see something other than these woods around you!

The gate doesn’t look flimsy, but it’s not exactly something that screams for people to stay away. The curving metal is delicate, like vines. As you shine your light over the gate, you notice there are vines actually on the gate, almost as though they were meant to be there.  
Or they indicated no one had been around to care for the place for a long time.  
With another closer look, the walls this gate are attached to are bricks that have been overtaken by the land, with leaves and wildflowers consuming the murky grey walls and seeming to blend it into the forest, only further disguised by the trees growing behind the wall.  
It’s too dark to really look over the garden, but from what you can see it’s brimming with plant life. But your focus is drawn toward the house. It’s only really a silhouette with the combination of the night and rain blanket, but it’s taller than you had anticipated. It’s almost cartoonish, seeming to lean more to one side with the bulk of the house rising up into one singular tower, something gothic and typically crooked.  
Mostly importantly, though, you see lights. Even with the curtains drawn over, the light fills each window it’s on at the base of the house.  
You return back to the gate, specifically the centre where the gap is very much open. Open enough for someone to walkthrough, which is exactly what you do.  
With one foot in the gate you glance behind you into the stretching darkness and then back up toward the house up ahead. The warm glow of what you could only guess might be the living room makes your heart flutter.

You can feel any nerves you had about approaching a stranger’s house at this time of night get easily stomped out as the window gives a sudden howl, blowing splatters of rain into your face and causing you to squint as your hood is blown back.  
With a gasp, you rush forward, grappling with the hood even though you can already feel your hair heavy with wetness, droplets of water sliding down the back of your neck as you trudge toward the house, gasping for breath against how suddenly bitter cold you were.  
You step onto the patio, gasping for breath as the wooden floor creaks below your feet. With a huff, you shake yourself, arms flapping in some attempt to dry off at least a little.  
If you were invited in you really didn’t want to make too much of a mess. No mess would be ideal, but you weren't hopeful, given how you're sure there was probably wet mud stuck to your shoes.

Partially sheltered from the rain, and now within a decent light you flick off your flashlight. It would be best to save the battery for the walk back, and frankly you're grateful you made it this far with it. You hoped it would hold out heading back.  
You don’t give yourself time to re-think your decisions as you glance the door over and grab the handle of the knocker on the front, thumping it awkwardly against the door three times. It’s higher up than you’re anticipating, having to roll onto your tip-toes to reach it.

You were amused, thinking about how you’d always wanted to try using one of those, though they were more fiddly than movies and shows made them out to be. You actually couldn’t believe this was the first one you’d really come across, actually.  
You stood there longer.  
You shuffled your feet awkwardly, glancing around you as nerves began to sink in. Had they not heard you knock? Maybe they did and they just didn’t want to answer. You wouldn’t blame whoever lived here for not wanting to open the door at this time of night, in this weather.  
But, god, you really wanted to get out the rain now.  
You gasp, drawing back at the sudden sound of multiple locks on the other side of the door. Before you can wonder if it’s to keep you out, the door opens.  
Blinking against the orange light from in the house you glance over the silhouette of a very tall figure.  
You guessed the doorway was at least just around seven feet high, and this man near enough clears that height. You have to crane your neck to look up at him, a mass of fluffy curls seem to make him look bigger, strands of a red-ish orange illuminated by the light of the house, like a back light. You can swear his eyes are glowing orange as he regards you for a moment.  
He tilts his head, smiling down at you before he speaks, voice low and rumbling like thunder.

“Oh! Well, hello there! :-) ”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You find yourself more offically introduced to the strange man at the strange house.

Chapter 2 

For a long moment, you really don’t know what to say. You could only stare up at this… behemoth of a man. You don’t think you’ve seen anyone as tall as him before. His clothes wouldn’t exactly blend him into a crowd either, a dark blue cloak lined with a pale, fluffy interior drapes over his shoulders, covering the equally dark jacket and trousers. Your gaze is drawn to the clasp holding the cape in place. You could swear it looked like a star, or even a lilly.

“Yoo-hoo.” You blink as a green hand gently waves in front of your face. God, his palm is nearly the size of your head! His fingertips seem to end in claws.

“Uh…” Is all you manage to muster, your brain seems to kick back into gear after the initial shock at the person standing before you. Your manners were starting to catch up as you realised it was rude to be staring and not saying anything!

“Oh, Goodie!” He pulls his hand back, clapping it against the other. His eyes seem to brighten as he smiles, lips together. “You’re still with us!”

You’re lost for words again, taken aback. This time it’s his voice. Baritone and deep, it seems to go through your very core. You can’t quite place the accent, but it’s heavy.

“Uh,” You swallow trying again as you clutch your flashlight in a white knuckled grip, trying to talk around the lump in your throat. “I’m really sorry to bother you this late, or wake you up-”

Before you can continue, he waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, It’s no problem at all! I wasn’t expecting to have company tonight, but it’s a pleasant surprise.” He continues to smile at you warmly. You try to keep your gaze on the bridge of his nose, finding his eyes almost too much to look at directly. They seem to glow in the shadows under the porch.

You take a moment to compose yourself, still fidgeting with the flashlight handle.

“Ah, well…” You stammer again and his eyes squint a little as he tilts his head to the side, smile widening a little. Your cheeks felt warm as you glanced off to the side. “See, my car broke down? Uh, just down the road.”

“Oh dear! :-O” His deep voice was a soft gasp.

You find yourself smiling, though there’s still a flurry of butterflies in your stomach, so it doesn’t fully reach your cheeks. “Heh, yeah… Then on top of that, my phone died so I couldn’t call anyone out to fix it.”

“Well, well, that’s terrible luck, isn’t it.” He mused, and you glanced up as he placed his hands on his hips, lips pulled down into a small frown. Before you can continue and ask to use his phone he gasps, fingers covering his mouth as his eyes open and fix on you.

“Have you been walking through this terrible weather?” He asked, as though he’d only noticed the downpour behind you.

The strangeness of this man and situation must have worn off just then, because the sound of the rain still hammering away seemed to remind you of the plastic clinging to your arms and soaking your clothes underneath. You move your arms to hold yourself a little closer, but grimace at the soggy fabric rubbing against your cold skin.

“Yeah,” You admitted, “If it’s not too much trouble, do you-?”

“That won’t do at all!” He interrupted you again. You blinked, stunned as you watched him step aside to hold the door open, the other arm ushering you into the warm glow of the house.  
“Please, please, do come in!”

Your feet feel glued to the creaky wood below you, you mind running many scenarios through your head detailing why this was a terrible idea. You didn’t know this man. You don’t know this town. Your phone was dead and a stranger was offering to let you into his home, everything about that alone was setting off red flags in your head.

But on the other hand, a smaller part of you really, Really, didn’t want to go back to your car. Town was who-knows how far away, much further than the house in front of you that seemed to radiate a comforting warmth from within. You tear your gaze away from down the hall up toward the man. His smile falls a little as he catches your gaze. You get the feeling your uncertainty is showing through as he speaks up.

“I can… Leave the door open a bit?” He offers gently. He gestures to a door stop laying near his feet, not far from a small table with a vase plant resting on top of it. He smiles again, more gently. “If that would make you feel better?”

You can’t help yourself, and you smile, a breathy chuckle passing your lips. You glance back into the house, pushing back a wet strand of hair from your brow. You take a moment to consider it.

Then, you nod.

“Okay.” You say, and his gaze seems to light up like an excited puppy. “Okay, yeah. I’d feel a bit better since… You know.” You shrug and move to enter the house, taking care to thoroughly wipe your shoes on the welcome doormat before crossing the threshold. 

“Of course!”

Your steps are slow as you walk a bit further in. It suddenly hits you just how warm it is in here compared to outside, and it makes a shiver run up your back. Especially when you can feel the droplets still rolling down under the coat.

“It’s a lovely place you got here.” You offer, voice small as you're not really sure what to say and in awe of how much bigger this place looks compared to the outside. Which was still pretty big given how the house had towered over the trees.

“Why, thank you!” You turn a little, standing awkwardly as he slides the door stop between the door and the frame, leaving the front entrance open ajar. There’s still a breeze coming through, but compared to actually being out there? This is way nicer.  
You blink, suddenly noticing his hand stretched out to you. You briefly glanced over his clawed fingers before trailing your gaze up to his face as he spoke.

“Here, let’s get your coat hung up while you’re here!”

“Oh, uhm.” You pause. “I wasn’t planning on staying too long. I was hoping to just use the phone and then head back to the car. I don’t want to keep you up or anything.”

“Nonsense! You can call for maintenance and wait in here. You’re my guest, I couldn’t bear the thought of sending you put into this nasty, icky weather.”

“That’s really kind of you, but-”

“Up-up-up, no buts!” He holds up a sharp finger, wagging it at you. His voice reminds you of your parents, with a sense of insistent fussing. He smiles again, hands clasping together as though he were not far off from begging. “I insist. It’s the least I could do to offer you my hospitality.”

As you stand there, mulling his words over in your head, the stark contrast between the warmth of the home and the clammy feeling of dampness still clinging to you pushes your resolve, and you slowly shed your coat. 

He plucks it from your hands to hang it on the coat rack, next to an abundance of coats.  
It must get cold up here, they all looked so fluffy and warm.  
You shudder again and as you at your arms you wince at the wetness resting over the top of your jumper. His fingers brush your back and

you gasp a little at the contact, though it seems to fall on deaf ears as he speaks.

“Come in, come in! Lets you get you all warmed up before anything else.”

It’s near intimidating just how much taller he is than you. His hand is just grazing your back to shepard you deeper into the house, though you find yourself a lot more drawn to taking in his strange appearance more than the house around you.

His eyes are suddenly looking down toward you, head still held high. His golden eyes seem to glimmer as he offers another closed mouth smile. You can feel your cheeks burning as you glance down.

Without thinking, you blurt out your name.

“Hm?” He pauses, causing you to stop as well, though you still find yourself looking at the red carpet lining the long hall.

You repeat yourself, “Um… That’s my name. I figured I should at least introduce myself.” With a nervous chuckle you glance up. He blinks, long lashes fluttering as he gasps.

“Oh, no, it’s okay! I should have introduced myself by now too!” He holds a large hand out toward yours. “Please forgive me,” He winces a bit before smiling again, “It’s been a while since i’ve had company.”

Not thinking twice, you place your hand into his hand -Oh god. You have to pause, blood rushing back to your face when you can actually see how his clawed hands practically dwarfs yours. The skin is oddly cool against your quickly warming palm, and you start to anxiously wonder if your hand is clammy. You really hope not, but it’s hard to not think so when your heart suddenly races.  
You swear you see him suck in a quick breath, his lips parting ever so slightly, but you can’t bring yourself to look up further than his mouth.  
His fingers curl around your hand, and though you can hear the smile in his voice as you focus on his hand shaking yours, you almost swear there’s something knowing underlying it.

“Habit. Dr. Boris Habit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping I can write Habit at least kind of in character, but i'm not super confident at writting canon characters, so a lill feedback would be so appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're currently drying up in the home of dr. Habit. A part of you is wondering just what this guy's deal is, but you don't swell on it too much. Not like you'll be here the whole night, or anything after all.

“So… A doctor, huh?” There were probably better ways you could have started the conversation, but you really didn’t have anything else.

The living room wasn’t too out of place for what you’d expect with an older big house, maybe just a bit smaller than what you’d been expecting. There was a wall practically made of a bookshelf, and your gaze kept getting pulled toward it. There were way too many books for just one person to read in a lifetime, you were sure of it. Even the most dedicated book worm would struggle. You couldn’t even see titles on a lot of the worn book sleeves, so you could only guess what would be in each book. While Habit had been out the room a few moments ago to fetch coffee and biscuits, you'd spent most of your time studying it, too comfy in the thick blanket you’d been provided with to get up from the leathery armchair to move, the sound of the fireplace crackling beside you lulling you into the warmth of the room.

The leather of the chair squeaks as you shift again, sighing as you tug the blanket further around you and gazing toward the tray of tea and biscuits on the mahogany coffee table. 

Habit sat on the arm chair set on the opposite side, a steaming warm cup set on a small plate. The very size of his hands made the chinaware look way smaller than it actually was. 

He’d been taking a long, leisurely sip from his cup when you’d spoken up, and you caught the way he glanced over the edge of his cup, the fire light danced in his golden eyes. His eyes were easily the most noticeable thing about him when sat across from him, long lashes framing them and forcing an involuntary amount of heat up to your cheeks. You pretend to busy yourself with fixing your own coffee. “Yes. Dentist, to be specific.” You felt a flutter in your chest, swearing you could hear amusement in his voice and you wondered if your blush was visible, even in the dim light.

“Although,” He continues, and you look up to see him staring into the fire with a forlorn look, “It’s been a very long time since I’ve been in the practice.”

“Oh.” You say simply, unsure of how to approach that. His brows are tightly knit together, and the long quiet stretches on with only the crackle of the flames breaking up the small knot of tension in your chest. You open your mouth, then close it, opting to finish making your coffee and take a deep sip of it. You don’t have to talk if you're busy drinking. The warmth of the drink instinctively causes your shoulders to loosen. You hadn’t even realised they were tense. Warmth spreads through you and you shudder pleasantly. 

Habit then turns his head back to you, his polite smile suddenly stretched back into place. “But enough about me,” He leans forward to put his cup and plate down onto the tray with a small clink. “You’re my guest! I’d love to hear more about you.” His fingers tent under his chin, elbows resting on his knees as he leans forward. He tilts his head, his eyes meeting your with an earnest gaze.

A bit taken aback you stammer. You lower your own coffee onto the tray as you mull over what to say, picking up a digestive biscuit as you settle back into the chair. 

“I don’t know if there’s much to really say.” You murmur with a half smile, but when Habit doesn’t budge, you hum in thought looking down at the biscuit and turning it about in your hand.

“I was on my way to visit my grandpops place.” You mention offhandedly. You huff, rolling your eyes, “You know, until the whole… Car breakdown and stuff.”

You take a moment to take a bite of your biscuit. You chew slowly as you think about how Habit’s not touched any of the biscuits yet. Maybe he’d only brought them out for you? It made you feel a slight twist in your stomach, and you could only assume it was guilt.

It’s not that you didn’t want to trust him, but still. 

The idea that you were on your way to someone, and they could be concerned if you didn’t turn up, made you feel a bit more secure. 

“I’m truly sorry that happened.” He sighs, wincing a touch. He twists in his chair, glancing toward the window with the dark curtains drawn over them, shutting out the view of rain still distantly pattering outside. In the distance thunder seemed to rumble in the distance. 

“And on such a horrible night too.”

You eye his coffee cup for a moment, wondering if you’d even seen him pour the drink for himself while in the room.

“Well, Thanks for letting me warm up like this.” You shrug, looking up to smile at him. “I really appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem at all.” His smile holds, but you’re sure you see it falter just a touch as he turns to face the fireplace. You find your gaze lingering on his face, and the way the fire’s orange glow flickers in the reflection of his eyes. You suck in sharp breath when his eyes are on you again, and you duck your head to take another sip of your drink. It’s colder now, but it means you can ignore the heat spreading across from your cheeks to your ears. “I assume your grandparents' place is a bit further out?” “Yeah. About a mile or two? Roughly?” You guess, taking a moment to let the cold tea taste leave your lips. “It’s a bit away from town.” You settle back further into the armchair with a leathery squeak, rolling your shoulders back into the comfy cushion and blanket. You lick your lips, still trying to get the taste off. You can’t believe how much worse warm drinks taste when they’re cold. You also swear you see Habit’s eyes flicker toward your lips briefly as you continue.

“I knew he lived out here, but I wasn’t allowed to come by.” When he gives you a puzzled look you smile halfheartedly, quickly rolling your eyes with a small chuckle. “Parents, you know.”

Habit doesn’t smile. He simply nods, eyes closed. When he opens them, he’s staring past your head, and a small noise draws your attention down to his mug, where his long nails are tapping against the side of the mug. “Yes.” 

You feel a tightening in your chest, and you wonder if that was maybe a sore spot. Not that you really could know. You don’t really know this man, but still, it felt out of place to make him uncomfortable when he’s been so hospitable to you-

“But sometimes-!” You jerk a little, surprised when he snaps the mug down onto the plate and sets both down on the table loudly. His smile is closed and wide, and the way his lashes curl seem to make his eyes look cartoonishly curved. It doesn't sit naturally on his face, it’s almost… Too much.

“Sometimes, it’s good to remember that all of that is years past!” His eyes pierce yours, his smile smoothing back into something more sightly. “After all, you're here now and I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.”

Oof…

You take a deep breath, glancing down toward your drink then back up to him. There’s something almost hopeful about his gaze and you just can’t bring yourself to say anything else that might bring the mood down more.

“Yeah.” You nod, pushing a smile onto your face. “Yeah, it’ll… Be nice.” You place your drink down, not really intending to have anymore. Not with how cold it is now.

Habit rises from his seat, taking a moment to smooth down his shirt before clasping his hands together.

“Well, if you're done with your drink, would you like me to show you to the phone?” He asks, “It will be best to get you going as soon as you can.”

You blink, a little thrown off. He doesn’t sound hostile, but you wonder if maybe what you said may have gotten on his nerves. His smile is still tight, and he seems eager to get you moving as soon as possible with how he’s already walking toward the doorway. It makes your stomach drop a little, but the last thing you’d want to do is bring up a sore subject and upset him further. Though, maybe he just wants to get you home safe as soon as he can? You really can’t be sure.

You glance down at the blanket draped over your shoulders and fold it quickly, placing it on the arm of your chair before following Habit across the room.  
He waits by the doorway, gesturing for you to walk ahead of him when you get closer to the open door.

“Just left and down the corridor.” He says, voice lifted back into it’s usual mirth. “The phone is in the kitchen down the hallway.”

You thank him quietly, and walk down the corridor. You glance at the long stairway as you pass it, and what you assume is a cupboard space underneath, looking as the wooden doorway. You don’t stop to look at it for too long, but the door was almost your height. With that thought, it could be impossible for Habit to walk in. You wonder if it’s even used for anything if that were the case.

You spot a few photos up on the wall, but your focus is mainly on getting to the kitchen as quickly as you could. The floor creaks in specific places as you walk, and you pass far more doors than you thought could ever be necessary for even a house this big. It made you wonder if Habit either lived on his own, or if he maybe has a family? Friends and roommates, even?

Not that it was really any of your business.

You reach the end of the corridor, the hall ending in a turn. You round the corner into the open, wooden framed entrance into the kitchen. The carpet is cut off and your feet near enough slip out from under you as you step onto the polished smooth floor.

You gasp, falling back a bit and find yourself stiffening as your back hits another body. A part of you knew the doctor would have been following you, but you hadn’t been expecting him to be so close behind you.

Habit makes a small noise akin to a “Whoops!” his hand quickly rising to gently grasp your upper arms. His fingers are ice cold against your warm skin as he steadies you.

“I’m sorry, are you alright?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, yeah i’m good!” You laugh nervously, rubbing your wrist as one of Habit’s hands lingers, moving up to your shoulder as he worriedly checks you over.  
When he seems sure you not hurt, his hand pulls away. Your arm still feels cool where he touched you, but you focus on carefully crossing over the kitchen threshold and toward the counter. There’s a click behind you, and the kitchen light flickers on after a small hesitation.

You rest your palm against the table you end up standing beside, not trusting your feet against the floor as Habit seems to glide past you. You take a moment to take a look around the kitchen as he walks over to the opposite counter, drinking in the cosy atmosphere of the room. The light bathes the kitchen in an orange glow, the light making the wooden surfaces feel far more warmer than you’d guess they were.

It’s a stark contrast to the scene beyond the small window above the sink opposite you, the cute, floral patterned curtains drawn back to give you a clear view of the rain still drumming against the window pane, the silhouette of a branch dances menacingly in the corner a strikes a harsh shadow when a light outside flashes briefly.

You tug nervously at your sleeve as the soft rumble of thunder seems to sound off in the distance.

You turn your attention back to Habit, and you finally notice he’s mumbling as he flicks through the heavy book by the phone.

With careful steps, you approach, wary of the floor under you and curiously lean on the counter a step away from him to peer at what he’s looking at.  
Your gaze flicks up to his face, watching his dark eyelids flutter as his blinks, and your gaze travels down to his lips. He’s still muttering, and you swear his voice has the same deepness as the thunder outside.

You’re not expecting to glance up and see his gaze on you. Your breath hitches, heart missing a beat as you fumble to clever up your staring.

“Uhm, is, that… Uh, a phone book?” Of course it was, but god, you’re hoping he gives you a little mercy and indulges your question. Anything to ignore the fact that, yes, you were again staring at this stranger. As you stood in his house.

You see his lips curl up at the corner, and for a split second you swear you catch a glimpse of pearly white teeth gleaming in the light before he’s speaking again.

“Why, of course, silly-billy!” He stands a little straighter, “How else would I find any numbers to call?”

You blink. “Well, I usually just look it up on the inter-web.”

He’s still for a moment, before he looks down at you, lips pursed. “You can get numbers on the world wide web, now?”

That takes you back a bit. He at least knows about the web but… You’ve never heard anyone call it the world wide web as long as you’ve been alive. You don’t think gramps even used to say it.  
You let out a small laugh, a bit in disbelief.

“Yeah. I mean,” You pull out your dead phone from your pocket and wave it gently. “You can usually get business numbers from the internet on the phone, too?” You take a weary glance toward the rotary phone sat in front of Habit. “Uh… A modern phone, anyway.”

He’s quiet for a moment, before he huffs hands balling on his hips.

“W-well, where’s the fun in the search then?” He asks, indignant. He turns quickly back to the book. “A-hah, see, right here!” He proudly taps a claw against the yellowing, well read page. “There’s the number for the car service and mechanic in town.” He smiles at you, looking a little smug.

“Isn’t that much more rewarding than looking at your mobile phone?”

You let your jaw fall a little, feeling the corner turn up in a small smile. You scoff, moving to cross your arms. You almost can’t believe this guy is actually saying that, and it… Really makes you wonder how old he is.  
Not that you can really think about it or retort, because he’s already inputting the number into the phone.

Looking closer, you can see dust flying off as he puts in the number. Hell, the whole phone is actually not as dull a pink you thought it was. It’s just caked in dust. You frown, wondering when he last used the thing.  
That thought leads you into another one, which you mull over with a sense of anticipation as his finishing dialling and holds the receiver to his ear, a finger looping through the hoop wire to playfully twirl it.

Do rotary phones even work, anymore? Like, generally?

As another flash of lighting bursts into the room, the kitchen light gives a shutter, a small buzz of electricity fizzes above and you let out a squeak as the whole house is caked in darkness.

Glancing frantically toward Habit, stiffening as you can very clearly see the frown of confusion and disappointment on his face. His eyes are glowing a bright orange as he holds the receiver to his ear before he puts it back onto the stand with a hum.

“I… Think the phone might be broken.” He admits slowly.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plan is made and you wonder if it's a good idea to be digging around the bookshelf in Habit's living room...

Chapter 4

It wasn’t pitch black. At the very least, you could see the soft blue outline of your hands in the limited night light filtering in through the window. But the power was out and the house was dark.

You weren't sure if it was a good thing, but you also knew exactly where Boris was. The orange glow of his eyes were hard to miss in the darkness of the room.  
You watched, a bit stunned and very confused as the sharp eyes blinked, glancing up toward the dead lightbulb on the ceiling.

“Oh.” He murmured plainly.

You’re still stunned, but you find your voice to croak out a small reply.  
“Yeah…”

He turns to look at you and you know he’s looking because, again, his eyes are glowing.  
Thinking about it briefly, you realise you thought his eyes were glowing when you met him at the front door. But, it hadn’t been as crystal clear as this.

You can see the little features of his face around his eyes. His lower lids crease up as he smiles, and he has faint crows feet from smiling.

“Well…” He starts, voice waving nervously as he claps his hands together. “It looks as though I… Won’t be able to call any maintenance out for you.” He sounds apologetic, but his eyes still suggest a smile.

“But, a power outage and a disappointing phone aren't the end of the world!”

You stomp down a retort to that, since this man is trying his best to help you. But, you can’t help but think about how horrible it’ll be to walk either back into town or to your new house. Neither are close, and you just want nothing more than to crash and sleep.  
You’re considering sleeping in your car until morning, at this point. You really didn’t want to invade this man’s home any longer than you have.

“Let’s head back to the living room, I’ll set up some candles and we’ll discuss what to do!” You startle a bit, snapped out of your thoughts- You wonder if he’s gotten closer to you. It feels like he had, and you wonder how you missed it with how you can feel his presence in front of you. It’s odd. He’s not warm: it feels more like there’s a chill around him. But you wonder if that’s a breeze coming in the window pane or a crack in the old walls somewhere. 

You don’t think your voice will come out of your throat if you even tried, so you found yourself nodding. With a pause, you wondered if he’d even see you nod through the dark, considering how your eyes hadn’t even adjusted to the dim light yet, so you open your mouth to-

“Wonderful!” He chirps, and you feel an icy hand take a hold of your own.  
You jump a little, but hardly have time to say anything as Habit is already guiding you back through the dark house.

He… Must have been living here his whole life, because he navigated the house with such ease. The draws and tables down the hallway anyway. You’re sure you would have bumped into at least one on the way down if he hadn’t been guiding you. While walking blind too. Habit near enough skips down the hallway at a pace you're not quite used to travelling when you can hardly even see ahead of you.

\----

As much as you want to sink into the large chair set beside the lit fireplace, something about this gigantic room just makes you feel uneasy.  
It’s an odd thought, but maybe it’s just because you know you were here before not long ago. A warm tea is held snugly in your palms, but you’re sitting on the edge of the big leather seat and unable to allow yourself to sink back into it.

Habit it's across from you, his own cup of tea still steaming, but hasn’t been lifted by him once since he brought the tray back in.  
With how dark the hall and kitchen were you were puzzled about how he found anything.  
But it must’ve been a struggle, so you decide to take a grateful sip, sighing as the warmth travels down your throat.

“Thank you, Boris.” You speak up after a moment of quiet. He’d been sitting with his eyes closed, and they opened to lock onto you. His gaze is intense, and you subtly glance toward the fireplace.

“I, uh, I’m so sorry for intruding into your home like that and I appreciate all of your help-”

Before you can say more, he makes an _‘up-pup-pup_ ’ noise, and you turn to look at him as he wags a finger at you, smiling.

“You haven't intruded at all. I love to make people smile!”

Uh. You’re not sure what that has to do with what you said, but you smile softly as he continues.

“I will help you get home, safe and sound. Now…” He clasps his hands together again, suddenly looking a bit nervous. “As it’s late, and raining ever so terribly, I can’t in good conscience have you go outside.” He turns in his seat a bit, glancing back toward the window. It’s hard to see anything past the cream curtain, but you could practically feel the rain still hammering down. The feeling is highlighted as a small flash of light from outside illuminated the silhouette of swinging branches and streams of rain pattering against the window in time to the noise.

Boris turns back to you, smile still in place as he lifts his clasped hands up to lean his cheek on the back of them.

“I feel it would be best if you stayed the night, and we will sort out your little situation out in the morning.”

You blink, a little surprised at the suggestion.

“A-Are you sure? I wouldn’t mind walking back and sleeping in my car if I needed to.”

His eyes opened as his face shifted into a small frown. He finally lifts the cup up, bringing it close to his face as though he’s preparing to take a drink. He  
“That’s too dangerous.” He told you. He shifts so his free hand is in his lap. “There’s… Dangerous animals out at this time of night. Getting to the car, even staying in it, would be… Very reckless.”

“Dangerous?” You parrot. You hadn’t heard of anything dangerous living out this way. Other than maybe Grandads bigged up stories. But they were only stories.  
Mum said the biggest thing he’d probably hunted was a deer. Maybe not an animal to mess with, but hardly dangerous, surely.

“Oh, yes.” He reassures you, the cup goes back onto the plate and the table. “Very dangerous. I… I wouldn’t feel good about letting you walk into something avoidable.”  
He smiles, somewhat proudly, placing a hand over his heart.  
“It would be no problem on my behalf. I have plenty of space to share for a night, after all!” His arms swing out, as he gestures to the space around him and the house beyond it.

You squirm in your seat. You go to protest, but something stops you. The thought of running into something dangerous at night? In the pouring rain, no less. That’s not even considering you don’t actually have a fully charged phone or a car to get you anywhere. The yawn trying to fight it’s way past your lips is another point against leaving.

Habit doesn’t seem to notice as he claps his hands excitedly.  
“Oh! I should have some spare night clothes you can borrow. Some pillows and a duvet. Then I'll make you some breakfast in the morning and we can get you home. It’ll be so nice!”

He seemed to be talking to himself, and getting more and more excited by the word. You wonder how often he has guests to be this excited, let alone by the idea of a sleepover.  
It’s either been a while, or he just gets excited easily.

Either way, his excitement and the cons to walking out this later push your decision. Habit’s done nothing to harm you, if anything he’s been as helpful as he could be and been more than accommodating. Maybe you should have your guard up a bit more, but you're tired and achy. Something in you decides to trust him.

“Well, if it’s no issue then I’ll stay tonight. Thank you, Dr. Habit, I appreciate it.”

He flinches at the name, his smile twitching briefly.  
“Please, just Boris is fine.” He nods, smiling a bit wider. “It’s no issue at all!”

“I do need you to understand I have a strict beddy-time, and if we’re going to be sorting you out tomorrow, we’ll need to get plenty of rest.”

Blinking, you find that a little odd. But, you suppose you’re a guest here so following house rules would be the polite thing to do. He’s also not wrong, tomorrow would involve a lot of travel. “Uh, sure. What time do you go to bed?” 

“I get into bed by nine, on the dot.”

You find yourself pausing for a moment. Is it still not even nine? God, it feels later.  
You fight back another yawn, and take another sip from your drink. Boris seems to catch the way your lips twitch to hide your sleepiness and tilts his head.

“You look a little woozie.” He comments, though it’s close to a coo with how he says it.  
Something about the way he says it doesn’t worry you, but the wording makes your brain pause to dissect it and see if anything about it feels off.  
But maybe you're too tired to notice or care.

“Long day.” You chuckle, putting your cup down.

He nods, smiling knowingly. “I can imagine. Well, it’s not far off beddy time!” He stands, and the curls of his hair bounce as he jumps up. “Let’s get you all set and ready to sleep.”

You wince. Maybe he’s way too enthusiastic about having a guest, but you swear he’s not displayed any kind of sleepiness the whole time you’ve been here. You wonder if it really is close to nine if he’s still bouncing about.  
But your eyelids feel heavy and you stand to follow Habit as he’s already striding for the hallway.  
You shuffle around the coffee table, glancing toward Habit’s drink and being perplexed by how full it is compared to your empty cup.

You nearly walk right into Habit’s chest when he had abruptly stopped and turned to you. “Oh, please sit for longer!” He insists, and you feel your face heat up when he gently grabs your hands in his. They’re freezing cold, and completely dwarf your hands. You can’t help but stared, red faced as your hands fit in the palms of his massive hands, claws gently curled around you. He continues to talk about you being a guest and staying in this room since you're so tired. Something about your room being a trek? 

You just about nod, muttering a shy, “Okay.” But that seems to be enough for him as he gives your hands one small squeeze before pulling away.

You stand there for a moment and rush back into the room, face burning.

You bring your hand up to your cheeks and try to will the heat away from them. If it were any other stranger, you think the warmth on your cheeks would be more from anger. But something deep in you seems to block any red flags when you see Habit, speak to him. You sure couldn’t deny there was something endearing, but you can’t really put your finger on what it was. It’s just a silly thing, you think. It’s not hard to be a little flustered by a man that towers over you and- You think back to his hands engulfing yours and your blush returns in full force.

Deciding that standing in the same spot and thinking about Habit isn’t the best option, you decide to explore the room. It’s odd, you’re both very sleepy but very awake.  
You find yourself in front of one of the walls of books, near where you had been sat. You run your fingers along the spines of many books, wondering if it would be okay to pick one up. Hell you wonder if you’ll try pulling one and it’ll be revealed to be some switch and the wall will swing open into a secret place in the house, deep underground.

Your heart flutters, your finger stops at a big green book and slowly tug it from their space.  
The further you pull it out, the more an excitement builds in your chest.  
The book almost tumbles from your fingers and you fumble to catch it with a panicked noise.  
Looking up, the most that’s happened is there’s a missing space in the bookcase.

Boring.

You pout, and gasp realising the book had opened when you caught it. Holding it out, you inspect the pages the book is open on for any creases, hoping the book was maybe just one out of many on the shelf.

No creases, but- You squint, not able to read the words too well in the dim firelight so you take it closer to the fireplace.  
Skimming through paragraphs, and glancing over the sketches of flora highlighted with a scratchy, fine art style, you realise your holding some kind of gardening book.  
Huh. You wonder if this is a hobby of the doctor’s or if it’s just another book to fill the massive bookshelves. You were sure some people just got books to fill shelf spaces, sometimes.

You turn a page, and you're taken aback at the next pages.

There’s the usual printed text, almost too small for your eyes, and a drawing of some kind of a plant you’ve not seen before. You glance up at the top paragraph for a name.  
A Noonbloom.

You think you’ve heard of them, but looking at the drawing you’re sure you’ve not seen one. But your attention is drawn away from those details, at the more bold text that had been written into the borders. Some sentences had been scribbled out, and clustered into the margins were a more scribbled text. The words aren't easier to read, despite being bigger, because each sentence is littered with typos and odd ways of spelling words. ‘I’ has been replaced with ‘Ey-e’ in a few areas.

There’s a few doodles here and there too.  
Well, you say doodles but they’re more like smiling and frowning faces you’d put in a text message.  
The flower is even coloured, the sunset colour on the petals stand out against the aged page, and bring your attention to the smiling pattern on the flower’s face.  
You smile a bit, and your gaze travels to where the text had been scribbled out, and read over the words written next to it.

_‘Ey-e domn’t beli-eve this is rite! When I gave him he water reco-mended he was all frowny and sad : - (  
Hint: A drop, drop, drop every other day fix-ed him riiight up!’_

It was one of the more readable add-on’s to the page.  
You can only assume this is Habit’s writing. It’s a guess, but it feels like a good one. It feels like an extension of him, in a way.

You flick the book in a few more pages, not really looking at the fine print and more at the odd collective of notes and doodles Habit added onto the well worn, yellowed pages. He must’ve thumbed through this one quite a bit.

Curious, you slot that book back and walk along the bookcase, running your fingers along until you stop at another random book and pull it out. You flip it open to the middle.  
Your stomach turns a bit because you’re not expecting a detailed image of how a cavity works.  
You grimace, but you suppose you should have expected to see a couple of dentistry books about. Your attention is drawn, once again, to the scribbles on the pages and this time, you can’t read them in the slightest.  
It might be because you realise, with the hard edges and letters you never see in English, that this is in a different language. Russian springs to your mind as a first guess, and it makes you think back on the heavy accent the doctor has.

You think this one is even more defaced than the other, and flicking through you find a lot of frowning faces, and even simple doodles of Habit himself. He’s crying and missing an absurd amount of teeth in these drawings. 

You close the book, stomach twisting as you slide the book back into place.  
As your gaze dances along the shelf just under your chest, you wonder if it’s even a good idea to dig any more. Clearly some of these are a bit personal. Hell, it’s his stuff, and you're a guest. You didn’t even ask if this was okay.

Those thoughts don’t stop you from pulling another book out, though.

Apprehensive, but curious, you look at the cover first. Your face grows warm at the sight of what you recognise as one of those oil painted covers, the two figures painted on the cover are inches from kissing, one dipping the other over a bench in a lush garden while the night sky is framed by tree branches, the moonlight highlighting the two. 

You blush, but don’t find the strength to put the book back. Instead, you flip it over and read through the blurb. Was… Was this one of those saucy romance novels, or was it one of the rare ones without-

“Oh, that’s where it was!”

You scream, jumping back as the book is flung above your head. You near enough topple over the seat behind you but grip the top to stop yourself tumbling over it.  
You watch, wide-eyed and a hand clutching at your chest as your heart beats a million miles a minute, as Habit jumps himself but manages to catch the book on it’s way down.

He looks at you, smiling apologetically.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” You can almost hear the frowny faces he’d written into his books in his voice. Your thoughts briefly go over his accent in your head, and how you're sure it’s Russian, before landing back at how you hadn’t heard him at all.

Had you been that caught up in some old romance novel’s blurb that you hadn’t even heard the creak of the stairs or floorboard? You don’t want to generalise, but everyone makes at least some noise moving around, and being 7ft you figures Habit wouldn’t be too hard to hear coming.

“It-It’s okay.” You manage out, a nervous laugh breaking past your lips as you start to relax, stepping closer to him. You fiddle with your sleeves.  
“Uh, sorry. I got a bit curious.”

Boris simply waves the hand with the book in it. Under his other arm there’s some cloth folded up under his arm.  
“It’s alright! I have plenty of books to share.” He holds out the one you were holding, as though it were anything but a possibly steamy romance, and smiles. “I was looking for this one for ages, but if you want to read it before bed you’re more than welcome.”

Your cheeks feel like they’re going to burn up as you reach a shaky hand out and take the book, ignoring how your heart jumps when his cool fingertips brush yours. You were trying to not do that, but it was impossible with how the book is so much smaller than his hand.

He holds up the cloth, still folded, “I found something for you to sleep in for the night.” He glances down at it, seemingly contemplative.  
“It might be big, but I'm sure it will do for the night. Let me show you where you’ll be sleeping. I’m sure you’re exhausted!”

You can hardly get a thought in as you follow after him, clutching the book to your chest as though you were covering the front from anyone else who would see you and it.

As you follow Habit, you can hear the floor creak under only your footsteps.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As things get stranger, you find you might not get to leave quite as soon as you thought you would. Hey, being out in the rain has its consequences...

Habit must know this house like the back of his hand, as he seems to know which steps and floorboard will creek. 

You attempt to follow in his silent path, but find the ground beneath you seems to protest at your every step. You’re mesmerised at how this behemoth of a man who towers you could move so swiftly and quietly.

It’s all you find yourself dwelling on before he turns into a smaller corridor and leads you to the only door, down at the end. He opens the door and the hinge creaks eerily. Habit pauses, mid-step through, and experimentally swings the door back and forth. The creaking of the rusty hinges swings with the door and Habit tuts at it, disapprovingly.

“I hadn’t realised that it was so noisy!” He huffed, clearly contemplating when he’d have time to fix it. You stand there, politely waiting for him to walk forward and gesture for you to come in as well. 

Out of the corner of your eye you see him smile politely by the doorway, watching you take in the small room with interest and a bit of apprehension.

“You can stay in here for the night.” He tells you, his voice runs through you as your back is turned to him. An instinctive part of you wants to turn around and face him, but you're mainly distracted in observing if the room would be fit for the night.

Not to say you wanted to be fussy over Habit’s kindness, but you’d rather sleep on one of the chairs than up here if there were webs and bugs in the bed.

However, to your relief, the bed looks fine. Cozy, even, from where you’re standing.

“There’s a bathroom across the hall.” Habit suddenly appears beside you and doesn’t seem to notice your startled jump and suppressed yelp. “If you would like to change, i’ll have your bedding ready when you come back and say goodnight!”

“Oh, right. Uh, thanks.” The fabric, which you assume are your bed clothes for the night are moved into your arms, and you glance up, realising how close his face is to yours as he leans down to pass them to you, some of his russet curls drop over his eye, and you physically stop your hand from reaching up and tucking it behind his ear.

You nearly scream at yourself for even thinking of doing that. You hardly know the guy, after all!

He smiles, bright and warm, seeming unaware of your inner self-berate. “Since the light’s won’t come on, I lit a few candles, so you can see a little better. There’s no windows in it after all. Once you’re tucked in, I’ll put them out.” 

You recover, nodding quickly and offer your own small smile. “Thanks. I appreciate that.” 

Awkwardly, you shuffle past him, not missing the way he seems to preen at your words before moving to sort your bed for the night. 

The bathroom isn’t the most out of place thing in the whole house- or rather, what you’ve seen of it- but just how small and plain it is throws you for a loop a bit. You guessed a part of you had been expecting something. 

As you shuffle out of your clothes, you find some relief in peeling the slightly dampened articles off. Drying off had helped, but you were sure you’d just gotten used to the slight dampness during your time in the house and only now, stepping out of them you realised how uncomfortable they actually were. Being in a strange house doesn’t exactly make the whole situation better, though, and you find yourself taking another nervous survey about the tiny room.

As you take another glance around the bathroom, a sense of vulnerability shudders over you as the cool air hits. But, nothing really catches you off guard. 

It’s a bathroom. There’s no windows, a few candles lighting the place, set on the edge of the bath and surfaces, like Habit said they would be.

It’s off putting, sure, being in a room with dim light. But there’s no area that’s hidden from you, no particularly big shadows you might catch out of the corner of your eye, and without a mirror you can’t look and get spooked by tricks of the light-

Your gaze snaps back. You’ve paused, midway through putting your hand into the shirt to slip it on, and you frown at the blank space on the wall above the sink faucet.

You say blank, but you feel like something was there at some point in time. There’s a discoloration on the wall, a very oval shape and at the top you’re sure there’s a nail still hammered in, stuck and forgotten.

You’re taken back a little. Looking at the lack of a mirror in the room, you wonder if you’ve actually seen any mirror’s in the house so far.

Like, at all.

You don’t think you have, anyway.

It unsettles you. But, you can’t quite pin why it does. A part of you wonders if there’s a deeply rooted insecurity issue. Some people really didn’t like looking at reflections after all.

You can’t say you’ve ever been a fan yourself, though. You wonder if going this far could be unhealthy.

It makes your gut twist a little, a pang of pity in your chest.

Confirming that the small detail of a missing mirror was the thing unsettling you, you decide to focus on changing into the bed clothes Habit had given you.

Your mind wanders to him a little.

In the short time you’ve been here, you wonder if you’ve barely even scratched the surface of your, well, neighbour you suppose. You think he might be the closest person to you, distance wise. 

There’s an endearment to him. Something that makes you want to know more. He’s been rather sweet to you so far, all things considered, if maybe a bit eccentric. 

But, hey, who doesn’t have their quirks?

You blush, realising that the bed clothes you’re now wearing are… Probably just one of Habit’s more comfortable shirts.

The hem stretches past your knees, down around to your calves. You have to roll the sleeves up and you’re, once again, surprised. The fabric is soft to the touch and pleasant to run your fingers over. 

Not thinking, you lift the collar shirt to your nose and sniff. You wonder if he used fabric softener from just how soft the shirt is, and you swear you can catch a whiff of something coppery under the odd minty scent, kind of like fingers after touching old coins.

You stiffen, face reddening as you let the shirt collar slip from your grasp. You glance around and toward the door, expecting to see Habit standing there, confused as to why you were spending time smelling his shirt in his bathroom.

You’re thankful that doesn’t seem to be the case, and hurriedly make sure all the shirt buttons are done up and leave the bathroom with a huff, face still warm.

As you pad back into the guest room, you pause at the doorway to watch as Habit fluffs up the pillow on the bed, smiling to himself and humming happily. If the bed had looked inviting before it seemed irresistible now, with the thick looking blanket, a flower printed bedspread folded halfway over it and the now fluffed up pillow.

You had to fight down a yawn just looking at it.

Habit turned back to see you in the doorway, still smiling widely.his eyes gleaming in the light of the candle set on the bedside table.

“Ah, I hope this is all good for you?” He says, folding his arms behind his back as he takes a step toward you. He moves a hand to your shoulder to gently guide you toward the bed. The feeling of his fingers brushing your shoulder makes your cheeks redden again.

“It looks great. Thank you, Habit.” You manage to say, not missing the way he seems to beam with delight. You have to glance away, climbing onto the bed to sit on it’s edge and bouncing a little to test the bedding.

Woah, it’s softer than you first thought...

“You don’t have a fever, do you?” Habit asks suddenly, and you glance up almost missing his words completely.

“Huh?” Is all you can muster, a bit confused. You nearly squeak when his cool hand presses to your forehead.

“Hm… You’re warm.” He mumbles, “You’d best get some rest.” He decides. “If you have a fever then that won’t be any good at all.” Habit tuts gently, looking worried.

You hadn’t considered how being out in the downpour would have affected you, actually. You don’t feel particularly ill, or at least, you thought you hadn’t. But after Habit touched your forehead you were suddenly aware of a slight throbbing behind your eyes.

Maybe you were just tired, but a part of you couldn’t rule out the idea that maybe, just maybe, you did get sick from the cold and rain.

Great.

You groan a bit, displeased at the very idea and feel a small bite of dread when you swallow and find your throat feels sore and dry, and you can feel the idea of being ill lodged in your throat.

“I should be alright.” You try to insist, though the slight croak in your voice probably doesn’t work in your favour.

Habit tilts his head, humming disapprovingly.

“We will see in the morning. I’ll come check on you when it’s time to get up.” He decides. You’re a bit too tired to really argue, and… You suppose you wouldn’t have too much of a choice if you really do feel worse by the morning. With a hum, you pull the covers back and slide in, shivering with delight at the feel of the cool sheets warming. You don’t get the chance to pull the covers up and over you before Habit has beaten you to it, humming a song- or maybe it’s a lullaby?- as he almost tucks you in.

You sniffle, and groan to find your nose feels stuffy.

Habit pats your head. “Now, you get your resties, hm?” You swear his smile widens, but your eyelids are starting to feel heavy. The very weight of the covers over your body feel like a big, warm hug and the cool pillow under your head is a welcome relief from the throbbing in your head.

You swear you catch a glimpse of Habit’s teeth, gleaming in the dark as he grins. 

“Nighty, night, my dear guest. Sweet dreams.” He blows out the candle next to you and you lose your fight against consciousness. 

It’s still night when you blink your eyes open. Instantly, you know something is wrong. You can’t pin what it is, right away, but you’re far more awake than you feel you should be for this time. Especially given how you were sure you weren't feeling great before you dropped off.

You decide to try sleeping on your side, figuring maybe you just need to find a more comfortable position.

That’s when you find your body is stiff.

Your gaze flickers down, into the dark room, a shuddering gasp leaving you as it hits you that you can’t move.

You physically can’t move, and it’s terrifying.

Especially when a shadow moves at the foot of your bed.

You wonder if it’s just a branch from the trees outside, something that can be easily explained away as nothing to worry about.

Another surge of panic makes your chest throb as the shadow moves again, and this time, something pitch black settles on the foot of your bed. 

A hand. A large hand, which could be better described as a clawed thing settles onto the sheets and when you go to scream, your mouth simply doesn’t open and your chest throbs from the effort.

Eyes opened wide, you can only stare and watch as the shadow crawls onto your bed, the way the bed dips and shifts around you feels far too real for you to dismiss any of what’s happening as you watch it approach and clamber over your paralized body, clawed hands resting either side of your head as you find gaze met with two pin prick like red eyes, staring right down at you. They’re so stark against the shadow of the body you’re almost amazed you hadn’t noticed them before.

Long curls of hair fall off the creature's shoulders, brushing against you. It feels too real, too much like hair and you shudder, like you’d just been hit with a small shock, but your limbs refuse to budge still.

The creature doesn’t even breath. You can only hear the thudding of your heart in your eardrums as you watch and wait.

It feels like an eternity, watching and waiting as the shadow looms over you. You can feel it’s knees either side of you, and you wonder how it can fit onto the bed with its sheer size. In your panicked mind, somewhere, you swear it reminds you of something. 

You then find, it has a mouth. 

Somewhere, under the eyes, under what you can only assume is the rectangular shape of the nose, the shadow breaks away into a grin, full of sharp and jagged teeth. There’s too many. Far too many to look at, and you can only stare as the smile seems to stretch wider and wider, equally as full of teeth.

Past the first set, you swear there are more, stretching far back into more rows like a shark. You’re too terrified to look at anything else than the teeth inches away from your face, a coppery smell fills your nostrils as you try to breath through the anxious tightening in your chest.

You can swear you’re shaking, but it’s hard to tell.

A scream stays lodged in your throat as the creature descends on you, and you feel something horribly cold and sharp drag along the side of your neck, sending a shiver through you.

With a sharp gasp, your eyes snap open to darkness. You scramble, your limbs suddenly moving with vigor as you go to push off whatever is on you and-

When the bed sheets were flung off, the morning light filtering in through the curtain hits you and you blink blearily, your hand moving to shield your eyes.

With a groan, you realise just how much your head is throbbing. Every blink you make, your eyelids feel heavier and heavier and you slump back down into the bed.

It had been a dream, and the realisation of that made the adrenaline rush from you. A part of you wished it hadn’t. 

At least in your flight or flight state, you hadn’t noticed just how but the lump in your throat was. You coughed, and the dryness of it is unbearable.

The mere morning light was too much for your eyes, and you rolled over, tugging the covers with you to wrap yourself up and shut your eyes tight with a sniffle, trying to breathe through your blocked nose and get a bit of extra shut eye, not wanting to think about anything.

Not where you were, not how you might be ill in a strangers home and, most definitely, not that horrible nightmare.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You wonder if you're starting to over stay your welcome...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a short one this time, since I'm trying to get a feel for writing again asdfgh

When you open your eyes again, it feels like something in your skull is trying to burst its way through your head. It’s still dark, and as you move your hand to press it over your forehead you realise it’s dark because of the blanket covering you. Your arm lifts it, and it slides off to reveal- Well, You know it’s not night time, and you can’t bring yourself to look out the window. It’s light enough, just a bit too dreary for a really sunny day. You frown, your hand pausing a few inches from your forehead when you realise there’s something draped over it. It’s fuzzy, but damp to the touch.   
  
Groaning, you move to push yourself up, joints clicking a little as you do so. It takes you far longer than expected to get yourself to sit up, and you watch the rag slip and tumble into your lap. You squint at the daisy pattern on it, before lifting your head to glance around the room, a sudden fear clutching at you as you glance around a room that is not your childhood bedroom, that you’d been bunking in while at your parents. Your breath hitches for a moment, and you glance back at the rag and then to the bedside table where you see the candle Habit blew out last night- It clicks in your brain, and you find yourself sighing in relief.   
  
You’re still… Technically in a strangers home, you suppose, but at the very least you kind of know Habit. Trying to steady your still racing heart, you take a deep breath in, and notice just how hard it is. It feels like one side of your nose is blocked, and you grimace as the pounding in your head returns. You lie your head back down onto the pillow, grabbing the rag and placing it back onto your head. You sigh, the dampness of the rag relieves just a bit of the hot ache. Just enough that you can squint towards the window. The sky is a light grey, and you can see droplets of rain still sliding down the window sill. It looks like it could be somewhere between early morning or midday, but it’s hard to tell from where you're lying and the constant drab grey of the sky.

A shiver runs through you, and you tug the thick covers back over your shoulders. It’s horrible, as you're sure you can feel the sweat on your back, but the chills running through you keep you from lowering the blanket back down.  
  
You grunt, irritated and find yourself sticking one foot outside the sheets, happy when it briefly offers a little relief from the odd temperature of your body. There’s not much you can really do, other than lie there and stare at the ceiling as you try to gather your bearings. You remember Habit, most clearly, more than anything else. The rest is slowly starting to follow after. Your car breaking down, the trek through the rain, the big house…   
The memories are trickling back in, like a tap that had been half left on, and you swear it’s taking longer than usual to remember all the details. A bad hangover comes to mind, though the most you’d drank- you were sure- was either a coffee or a tea.   
  
You suddenly feel yourself stiffen, and a terrible grin flashes before you as you blink. Rows upon rows of pointed teeth above your and coppery, warm breath ghosting your face as a weight presses down on your chest. It’s gone when your eyes are open, and doesn’t appear again after.   
  
The very thought of that nightmare makes you feel on edge all over again. You pull your leg back under the covers, not liking how exposed it feels. The sound of the door handle clicking draws your attention, as the door opens you're expecting it to creak harshly, like it had done last night. But it doesn’t. It stays quiet, the only real sound being the slight clinking of the things Habit has balanced on a small tray as he walks softly into the room. He lets go of the handle to hold the tray more properly and his gaze locks with yours. He seems stunned for a moment before smiling widely.   
  
“Well, Hello drowsy-Pants!” He greets you, and places the tray down on the bedside table, moving the candle over as he does. He kneels beside your bed, as plucks the rag from your head. You grimace as he does, and move to sit up.   
  
“Oh, do be careful.” He chides gently, his hand lifting in the air as though to stop you from getting up.   
You pause, but don’t sink back into the covers. You look over at what’s on the tray. You think you can see a small bowl of chicken soup, a glass of water and another flower patterned rag. Frowning, you glance to Habit.   
  
“Uh... “ You hardly get further when Habit picks up a glass thermometer from behind the rag on the tray and pops it into your open mouth. You stare, wide eyed as your mouth instinctively closes around it, before letting it drop as you snap a quick, “What are you doing?” Habit blinks at you, though he doesn’t seem undeterred. He picks up the thermometer from your lap and you blush at the small contact of his hand brushing your thigh, even with the blanket covering it.   
  
“Taking your temperature, silly!” He smiles, and lifts the thermometer up to your lips again. “Say ‘Ahh’~” He half sings, like you're a child getting your teeth checked. You stare at him for a long moment, his smile never faltering, before opening your lips a hair's width. You close your lips around the thermometer and wait for Habit to explain himself. He stands, humming to himself happily as he switches the rags, the daisy one getting put onto the tray as he lifts the other. Looking closer, you're sure it has roses on it. He fiddles with it a little before looking back over to you.   
  
“We’ll see how you're doing, but you’re a lot more lively today. Which is better than the last few days!” He laughs a little, seeming to miss the way your eyes snap open. You make a small noise as your mouth opens to say something, but closes at the feeling of the thermometer falling from your tongue. You stare at Habit with a bewildered gaze, and he seems to finally pick up on your distress.   
  
He fidgets with his sleeve. “I… Didn't you realise?” You shake your head, brows furrowing. “Oh.” Habit suddenly looked a little nervous, reaching up to tug at the collar of his shirt.   
“Ah. Well, you see…” He paused, obviously trying to find a way to explain the situation. “When you arrived a few nights ago, because your car broke down, it had been raining very heavily and you got caught up in it. Do you remember that?”   
  
You nod, and he seems relieved at that.   
  
“Good, good. Well, I offered you a place to stay for the night and when I came up the next day you…” Habit flinched and sat down on the edge of the bed, seeming to be mindful of where your foot was. “Well, you were running a temperature. I thought you’d remembered that I’d been taking care of you the past few days, since you did wake up, but clearly…” He trails off, looking down at you. “I’m sorry if I frightened you at all.”

“That’s okay.” You sniffled, trying to clear your nose again. Your headache is mostly a dull thud at this point, but you can still notice it, especially as you stare into your lap and think about how you’d apparently been so sick you were more or less out of it for two days. The more you try to concentrate and think about the last few days, you think you can remember very hazy points.   
Mostly lying in bed and waking up to Habit bringing soup in and checking in on you. As well as times when you stumbled to the bathroom in the hallway across from your room. You don’t really remember getting there, nor much else.  
It feels like screenshots in your mind. You blush a little when Habit’s hand moves closer to your mouth and gently plucks the glass thermometer from your mouth.  
  
Before he can say anything, you speak up. “So… Why not take me to the hospital, if it was that bad?”.   
His demeanour shifts, and you almost regret asking such a basic question.   
  
An odd feeling twists your gut as Habit stares at you for a moment like you're threatening to drive a knife through him.   
  
His gaze travels to the wall behind you, and almost seems to watch something on it move along. You turn your head a little, watching to glance over your shoulder, but another part of you is terrified Habit’s gaze will be on you again when you turn back around. You feel too stunned to move.   
  
Habit seems to blink and jump a little, like his body had jolted back to life again. He takes a shaky breath, not looking at you. “Y-You’ll have to forgive me,” He says. “I would have if I were able to, but…” He visibly winces, like a wounded puppy his gaze stuck to the floorboards below your feet. “I have some rather unpleasant experiences with-” He pauses, and it looks like he’s struggling to even say the word or even finish the sentence.   
  
“Hey, it’s okay. I was just wondering, is all.” You smile, “Besides, it… Seems like you did a pretty good job looking out for me. I mean, I’m not dead, right?” You chuckle, trying to brighten up the mood a little. At the very least, you don’t feel uncomfortable around Habit. He seems to have been taking good care of you, even though he really didn’t have to. He probably could’ve just left you outside the hospital or dropped you off outside your home. Either way, it seemed like he was doing his best.   
  
You sit up, and tug the bedsheet up with you to keep yourself warm. “I, uh… I appreciate your help. You’ve been more than hospitable.” That felt like the right word.

Habit looks over to you, his expression unreadable. You feel like sinking back into the bed when he looks at you like that, gut twisting. He usually seems pretty readable, kind of open. Then again, you remind yourself that you’ve known him a day- Not even a full one. He continues to look at you, before suddenly turning on his heels.   
  
“You should wash.” He hums, voice oddly even. Maybe even a little chiding, but you don't know if that's anxiety telling you that. “It would be good for you, then we’ll discuss what to do about your car.”   
You can’t help but blink, surprised at how quickly he left. There’s a twist of guilt as you scramble to think if you’d hurt his feelings, upset him in any way. It’s impossible to really tell if this is how he is when he’s hurt, or if this is normal. Maybe you really have overstayed your welcome.

The thoughts are swarming like wasps as you pull yourself out of bed, feeling like you're on autopilot as you move.   
  
As your bare feet hit the cool floor you couldn’t help but shudder before pushing yourself to leave the warmth of the heavy bedsheets. Your knees wobble. It almost feels like your muscles are trying to figure out how to do their thing again as you stumble for the door. Resting against the doorframe for a second, you glance down the hall.   
Everytime you look around this house you swear it gets bigger.   
A part of you argues that it was probably related to your fever, so you push down the uncertainty in favour of making your way to the bathroom, more than ready to freshen up.   
  
In the reflection of the shower head, you squint at yourself. You can just about make out the bare essentials of your face and neck, though it’s a bit too distorted to really see much.   
  
You’re sure you look like hell right now, but it’s pretty hard to know given the lack of mirrors in the house. You’re more than ready to wash what feels like a layer of gross off of you. As you reach to turn the tap, something makes you stop.   
Tilting your head, you try to get a better look at the side of your neck. Darker than your skin, you swear you can see what you can only assume is a nasty looking bruise.   
You watch the distorted reflection of your hand reach up to touch the area, fingers fumbling for a moment before prodding at the skin. You hiss, drawing back like your fingers had touched a hot stove. The pain dulls after a second. You can’t help but continue to stare and wonder what the hell that is, but it would be impossible to find out without any proper mirrors in this place.   
  
Rushing to flip on the water, you’re eager to at least maybe stop any sort of panic before it begins, but it doesn’t stop you from occasionally reaching up to touch your neck.


End file.
